through the ceaseless inflow of the decolletees.

She throbbed to the music of the big band; her feet burned to dance;
her waist ached for the sash of a manly arm. She knew that she could
dance better than some of those stodgy old men and block-bodied old
women. But she had no clothes on--for dancing.

But there was one woman whom Kedzie felt she could not surpass,
a dazzling woman with a recklessly graceful young man. The young man
took the woman from a table almost over Kedzie's head. They left at
the table a man in evening dress who smoked a big cigar and seemed
not to be jealous of the two dancers.

Some one among the spectators about Kedzie said that the woman was
Zada L'Etoile, and her partner was Haviland Devoe. Zada was amazing
in her postures and gyrations, but Kedzie thought that she herself
could have danced as well if she had had that music, that costume,
that partner, and a little practice.

When Zada had completed her calisthenics she did not sit down with
Mr. Devoe, but went back to the table where the lone smoker sat. Now
that she looked at him again, Kedzie thought what an extraordinarily
handsome, gloriously wicked-looking, swell-looking man he was. Yet
the girl who had danced called him Peterkin--which didn't sound
very swell to Kedzie.

He had very little to say to Zada, who did most of the talking.
He smiled at her now and then behind his cigar and gave her a queer
look that Kedzie only vaguely understood. She thought little of him,
though, because the next dance began, and she had a whole riot